


Violent Delights, Violent Ends

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Death, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Gang AU, Graphic Violence, Idk how to tag these, M/M, Mafia AU, Multi, Other, Violence, blood mentions, blood warning, mafia, strangling mentions, the gang au literally no-one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9069301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Crunch.
 Yurio winced again.“I think I broke your nose.” Viktor chimed, clicking his tongue against his teeth cheerily. The man strapped to the chair in front of him had begun to cry, his body shaking violently as sobs slipped from his busted lips. Yurio heard Viktor scoff, watching as the older Russian rested the bottom of his shoe against the edge of the chair, leaning over towards the man like a predator. A hand reached out towards his broken face, the man cringing as a finger gingerly wiped away a tear. “There’s no point in crying,” he almost whispered, his voice tender. Yurio furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side watching.“It’s just going to get worse until you tell me what I want,” Viktor continued, emphasizing his words by pushing the chair over with his foot, the sound of the back of the man’s head smacking onto the floor thunderous in Yurio’s ears.





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing an AU, so criticism is welcomed. I promise the chapters will get longer as I go.
> 
> Also, in order of the Russian words mentioned:
> 
> 1\. shit  
> 2\. my love  
> 

_"These violent delights have violent ends_   
_And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,_   
_Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey_   
_Is loathsome in his own deliciousness_   
_And in the taste confounds the appetite:_   
_Therefore love moderately; long love doth so;_   
_Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow."_

__________

 

The acute sound of flesh tearing open from brute force was shadowed by the sound of bone cracking as a voice cried out in pain. Yurio winced as he observed, standing with his back against the wall a few meters behind the bloody spectacle. Viktor took a step back to admire the sight in front of him. He sighed contently as he held his right wrist in his left hand, massaging it. A pair of silver, sleek brass knuckles decorated his right hand, his wedding ring tucked away into his pant's pocket safely. Blood had smeared over his knuckles as pieces of torn skin started to get caught on the tips of the weapon. By now it had been a slow, grueling thirty minutes since Viktor first started wailing on the guy, the left side of his face broken apart, a crimson blotch blossoming on the man’s unhinged white shirt by his abdomen. 

A few weeks ago Yakov had suggested that the teenager shadow Viktor while the three ate dinner together. Before he could argue and retort that he didn’t want to follow the flamboyant idiot around, Viktor had wrapped an arm around his shoulders and agreed a little too happily. 

It was hard to think that the same grinning nitwit was the same monster in front of him. 

_Crunch_. Yurio winced again.

“I think I broke your nose.” Viktor chimed, clicking his tongue against his teeth cheerily. The man strapped to the chair in front of him had begun to cry, his body shaking violently as sobs slipped from his busted lips. Yurio heard Viktor scoff, watching as the older Russian rested the bottom of his shoe against the edge of the chair, leaning over towards the man in a predatory fashion. A hand reached out towards his broken face, the man cringing as a finger gingerly wiped away a tear. 

“There’s no point in crying,” he almost whispered, his voice tender. 

Yurio furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side watching.

“It’s just going to get worse until _you_ tell _me_ what I want,” Viktor continued, emphasizing his words by pushing the chair over with his foot, the sound of the man’s head smacking onto the floor thunderous in Yurio’s ears. 

“P-please, stop. I don’t know anything!” The man cried out, his head leaning up slightly as his eyes tried to catch Viktor’s, searching desperately for anything that resembled mercy.

Viktor, in response, calmly walked around the chair until he stood by the man’s head, lifting his foot and placing it against the left side of his face gently.

“I think you’re lying,” Viktor hummed, nudging the man’s face with the tip of his shoe.

“I’m not, I-I swear, I don’t know anything!” The man cried out, a few drops of blood and spit landing on Viktor’s shoes and pants. 

“ _Li_ -,” Viktor teased, lifting his foot a few inches above the man’s face. The man’s eyes flickered to the shoe, pupils dilating with fear. “- _Ar._ ”

Yurio’s eyes widened as Viktor stomped on the man’s face once, taking a step closer to the scene as he raised his foot again and brought it down for a second time. 

_I think I’m going to be sick_ , he thought, the motion of Viktor wiping his shoe off on the floor, leaving a streak of blood behind causing his stomach to churn. 

“O-okay, I’ll talk, I’ll t-talk.” 

The words came out gurgled, blood from his broken nose and lips pooling in his mouth. 

Viktor’s foot froze above the man’s face as he listened. 

“The stash you’re looking for, it’s in a warehouse. Westward b-by the dock past the bridge in Midtown.”

“That wasn’t so difficult now, was it?” Viktor stated, leaning down to grab the sides of the chair, pulling the man back up. Blood oozed from his face, dripping past his chin and onto his shirt. Viktor watched for a moment, mesmerized.

“Are you going to let him go?” Yurio asked, his voice cautious. 

The man glanced at Viktor, his eyes staring as the silver-haired predator removed the brass knuckles, flexing and cracking his right hand’s fingers after. 

“You _never_ let them go.” 

In a swift motion Viktor had one arm under the man’s chin, wrapped around his neck, as the other trapped his head in, confining and limiting the air he was allowed to breathe. Ragged gasps tore through the man, the chair shifting against the floor as he desperately tried to free a hand to fight back. 

The man’s eyes stared at Yurio desperately, and Yurio found himself unable to look away. He watched for what felt like an eternity, his shocked eyes finally shifting their focus, resting on the sight of the man’s blood staining Viktor’s sleeves a darker shade of navy.

_This is why Yakov wanted me to shadow him._

Viktor finally pulled away, the man’s head lulling forward lifelessly. 

“That took longer than I wanted it to.” Viktor commented, walking over towards Yurio. He stretched out his arms in front of him, his joints cracking as he pivoted the limbs in the air. Yurio looked at him in disbelief. He made it sound as if he had just taken long waiting in line for coffee, not strangling someone to death. 

“Yurio.” 

The sudden change in tone snapped the teenager back to reality.

“What?”

“What time is it?” Viktor asked, placing both of his hands on the boy’s shoulders. 

Yurio gave him a confused look.

“It’s 8pm, why?”

“дерьмо.”

 

 

__________

 

 

 

“He’s late.” Yuri stated matter-of-factly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He leaned back against the counter’s edge, glancing at the variety of freshly cooked food on the dining table. The two of them owned a phenomenal kitchen, but rarely ever put it to good use. It seemed easier to just order from a restaurant. But, today was his and Viktor’s one year anniversary, and his husband was late. 

_Whatever,_ Yuri thought, pushing himself off and heading into the living room.

Almost on cue he heard the front door open, Viktor’s voice calling out to him almost immediately.

“Yuri, моя любовь, I’m so sorry.”

Yuri rolled his eyes as Viktor waltzed towards him in the living room, wrapping his arms around the slim man. 

“You’re _always_ late to things.” 

“I know.”

“I cooked your favorite meal, too.”

“Really?” Viktor piped up, excitement seeping into his tone. Yuri couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yes, really, come on.”

With that Yuri took the lead, letting his hands drop down to Viktor’s, holding them as he guided them to the dining room. That’s when he noticed. 

“Are you…are you covered in blood?”

Viktor’s eyes widened, glancing down at himself. Although he did try to wash the blood off his hands, there was still some caked beneath his finger-nails, and certain patches of his navy dress jacket were stained a darker hue. 

“I wouldn’t say covered.”

“ _Vitya_.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, pressing a kiss against Yuri’s forehead, “I was in a rush to get to you.”

Yuri scoffed. 

“Can we just eat, please? I’m starving.” Viktor pleaded, earning another laugh from Yuri as he pulled him in, pressing another kiss, this time to his cheek. 

“Fine, fine.”

Viktor insisted on Yuri sitting close to him, rather than the other side of the table once they actually began to eat. Yuri mainly watched as Viktor jumped from dish to dish, taking a bite of whatever he had cooked.  He was nearly done eating when Yuri spoke up, swirling the glass of wine resting in his hand. 

“Anything in mind for dessert?” 

Viktor’s lips twitched up into a smirk at the mention.

“I get options?” 

“Mhm.” Yuri hummed, lifting himself from his chair and onto Viktor’s lap smoothly, placing an arm around the Russian’s shoulders, the other still holding onto his glass of wine. He moved the cup to Viktor’s lips, letting him taste some. Viktor licked his lips after, watching as Yuri finished the glass. He snaked his arms around the other, Yuri shifting so that both of his arms were now wrapped around Viktor’s neck as his legs rested on the sides of the chair.  

“I only get one option?” Viktor asked, tilting his head so he could press his lips against Yuri’s jaw, kissing down the defined line slowly. 

“I don’t recall saying you only had one.”

Viktor smirked against his husband, letting his teeth graze the skin. Yuri shivered slightly, moving one of his hands into silver hair, twirling the strands idly. 

“Happy Anniversary, Vitya.” Yuri stated, Viktor continuing to kiss down his jaw until he reached his neck, sucking on a small patch of skin momentarily before responding. He tightened his grip on the Japanese man, pulling him in closer. 

“Happy Anniversary, Yuri.” 

_____

 

 

 


	2. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, this chapter is a big longer. I blatantly have no idea how to describe settings or do narration ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian words in order:
> 
> 1\. Rest in peace.  
> 2\. A Pakhan is the boss/vor/papa/godfather of a traditional Russian mafia and basically controls everything.  
> 3\. What the hell are you talking about? (someone correct me if it’s wrong, I used google translate and italki)  
> 4\. Great.

_“Men at some time are masters of their fates:_

_The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,_

_But in ourselves, that we are underlings.”_

 

__________

 

The sun had begun its descent, slowly tucking itself behind the silhouettes of docked ships and boats as a thin layer of dark blue hues crept over everything beneath the horizon. The harbor that Yakov and his men found themselves at was isolated, a cold breeze brushing through, the flaps of his overcoat flapping in a similar fashion to the tarp spread out on the gravel. 

“Покойся с миром.”

The words fell somberly from Yakov’s lips, the man kneeling in front of two bodies sprawled on the ground, covered by a plain black tarp that had become faintly misted with sea spray. He straightened himself out after, letting his head loll back slightly, inhaling and exhaling deeply. The sound of the tarp being rustled caused him to glance down, his eyes settling on Viktor perched by the bodies, a single hand lifting the thin plastic cover in the air in order to take a look. 

“Roman and Sergei, huh?” He commented, his accent wrapping around the names thickly. He straightened himself out and stood beside Yakov, his hands nestling in his coat’s pockets. 

“Same mark as the others?” Viktor questioned. 

Yakov responded by stretching his hand out towards the younger man, dropping a small, light-weight black orb onto his now outstretched palm. Viktor moved it closer to his face, examining it. A singular, black pearl rested in his grasp. The sight of it nestled on his palm, contrasting starkly against his pale skin stirred his stomach, a flare of anger washing through him. 

“They’re becoming a problem.” Viktor stated, tucking the orb into his pocket. The fraction of an ounce weight in his coat ever-present in his mind. 

“We need to retaliate. The Black Pearls only speak in blood.” He continued, shifting on his heels so he was turned completely to Yakov. The older Russian merely searched his pocket for a cigarette carton, moving a singular smoke to his lips slowly, and lighting it in one, relaxed motion. 

“You sound like your father, Vitya.” He commented, a puff of smoke trailing behind his words. 

Viktor visibly winced. 

“We need to speak to Abram. Directly. The Pearls haven’t attacked us directly in our territory, there is no need to start a war.” 

Viktor scoffed, glancing at the two men who had just emerged from a black van parked across the men on the floor, one carrying a case, while the other carried gloves. 

This was the routine. Their organization would find out about a recent killing of their members, typically before the police, and send out a representative alongside a cleaning crew to handle the situation. However, lately, the amount of times they’ve had to deal with incidents like this was becoming a dilemma. With the death of Roman and Sergei, the total loss that could be accounted due to the Pearls was five men. And that was five men too many for Viktor. 

The Black Pearls were an opposite Russian organization that had been butting heads with the Nikiforov’s Rails for three generations. Recently, the head of the organization, Eduard, had passed due to a supposed heart attack. His son, Abram, had taken over at the age of 25. Viktor had only met him once when they were both younger, the two barely teenagers. Viktor remembered the resentful stare shot his way as his father reluctantly signed over territory to Viktor’s father, the Pakhan at the time of the White Rails. 

“I’ll make the arrangements. You’ll go with Yurio, Georgi and I when the time comes.” Yakov continued, turning on his heels and staring at Viktor. Viktor sighed, placing his hands on his hips exasperatedly. 

“Okay, _Pakhan_.” 

Yakov scoffed at the name, wavering away from Viktor and towards the black vehicle that was a few meters away from them, parked behind Viktor’s slender, gray car.  

“Stay until they’re done.” Yakov called out before closing the backseat door of the car, turning his attention to the chauffeur that was waiting on standby. The car pulled out quickly, spewing gravel and dirt from beneath its tires before turning onto the main road and disappearing. 

Grumbling to himself Viktor turned back towards the men working, watching as the larger of the two rolled one of the bodies to the side, the other wrapping it in plastic. 

 

___________

 

The downtown area of the city was hypnotizing: the repetitive motions of car lights beaming through busy city streets flooded with a diversity of human beings going about their daily lives in the rainy weather easily oversaturated anyone’s senses. Some of the people scattered on the side-walks were city-dwellers, discussing the latest gossip while heading to a favorite restaurant, while others were tourists, huddled together for safety as they glanced around, caught off guard by the multitude of things to simply observe. A museum advertising a new exhibition beside a new restaurant caught the attention of some, while a street performer blowing into a harmonica while their worn finger-tips strummed away at a scratched guitar a block down caught the eyes of others. 

Yuri knew that the city could be an astonishing place filled with culture, young money and easy access to vices, but he also knew it could be utterly intimidating. 

If one was new to the shadows, it was easy to bump into the wrong person or be swept up by the relentless social tide. 

Although Yuri enjoyed his tranquil way of living with Viktor in the city’s surrounding, wealthy suburban area, he felt at heart he was always going to be one of the city’s creatures. After all, before having met his husband, this was his home. 

He hummed contently as he pushed the foggy glass doors open at the bottom of a high-rise, windowed building. He smiled at the middle-aged assistant sitting by a desk near the entrance, a flat-faced security guard a few feet behind her, arms crossed in front of his chest. The lobby of the building wasn’t the largest, but it was lavish. The building served as the main office for a multitude of businesses, including the escort agency Yuri used to work for. 

“It’s been a while,” the assistant said, turning away from the computer she was typing at and glancing at the black-haired man. 

“Sara always calls me in to help with recruiting.” He responded, pressing the button to call the elevator. 

“It’s generous of you to continue helping with the agency, even after your departure.” 

Yuri shrugged at the statement, “It’s either this or becoming a bored house-wife at home.” 

The statement earned a giggle from the accountant, and a confused look from the guard.  The _ding_ of the elevator snapped his attention from the two of them, Yuri waving goodbye as he stepped in, pressing the button for the ninth floor.

The elevator _dinged_ again and Yuri stepped out, his eyes gently greeted by ambient yellow lighting, exotic light fixtures hanging from the ceiling every few feet. There were four simple tables spaced throughout, with comfortable cloth seating arrangements that seated at least three at a time surrounding them. The lights worked as a guide to the center of the agency, another desk and another assistant greeting visitors placed in between two ornate, mahogany doors. The assistant here was prettier and younger, makeup accenting her green eyes complimented by the warm lighting. 

“How can I help you?” She asked as Yuri neared the desk, lifting one of her hands to rest her chin atop of alluringly. Her red finger-nails matched the red lipstick decorating her lips. Yuri  noted that she was new, and smiled politely. 

“Sara is expecting me, could you call her for me?” 

“And what’s your name, sir?” She asked, her voice remaining light, reminding Yuri of the few weeks he worked the front desk. 

“Katsuki, Yuri.”

The girl responded with a faint smile and a nod, picking up the corded phone beside her and dialing an extension. Yuri turned and sat down on one of the seats, crossing his legs and stretching out an arm alongside the ridge of the seat. 

“It still smells like roses.” Yuri muttered to himself, letting his head rest against the soft ridge, his eyes closing. 

_Ding._

“Что, черт возьми, ты несешь?”

The familiarity of the accent caught Yuri’s attention, the man turning his head to glance at whoever just stepped off the elevator. 

A man a bit taller than Yuri walked over to the assistant, Yuri keeping his eyes fixated on the back of his head the whole time. His brown hair was styled into a small bun resting atop his head, sunglasses pushed back onto his head. One of his hands was raised towards the assistant, a single finger-stretched out to shush her as he finished his phone-call. 

“If they want to meet, let’s meet. Just figure out a time and place.” 

Yuri’s eyes flickered to the assistant, the assistant glancing at him as well. She rolled her eyes, and Yuri almost laughed. He knew it was irritating to be at the front desk when a rude customer stopped by. 

“I don’t care, Bogdan. You’re in charge of security, so figure it out.”

With that the man groaned, hanging up and shoving his phone into his back pocket in an irked manner. The assistant returned her attention to him, Yuri observing. 

“I’m sorry about that, you know how handling business is.” The man apologized, his accent thick. Yuri wondered if he was part of The Rails. Although he had become semi-knowledgable of the organization’s activities through Viktor, he still didn’t recognize _every_ member. 

“It’s quite all right, sir. May I ask what you came by today for?” 

The man sighed, letting his weight rest on the back of his heels dramatically. 

“Right, right. I spoke to Sara about buying a few dates for one of my men’s birthday. She told me to meet her here?” 

“She’s already on her way to meet with someone else, if you could just wait out here?” 

The man nodded before turning, settling down by the table directly across Yuri. Yuri’s eyes immediately flickered elsewhere, settling on one of the light fixtures. The clicking of finger-nails against a keyboard served as the only sound in the room, until the man spoke up. 

“You don’t seem the type to be looking for company.” 

“That’s a bit blunt to say.” Yuri retorted, returning his attention to the stranger. The man laughed before standing up and walking over towards him, sitting on the other side of the seat Yuri was currently on. 

“Am I wrong though?” 

“I’m not looking for company.” Yuri responded, both to answer his question and to make a statement at his advances. 

The man raised his hands defensively in front of his chest. 

“Neither am I, I’m just planning something for a close-friend of mine.” 

“How thoughtful of you.” Yuri responded, his voice dry. He was trying to read the man’s mannerisms, to see what he wanted, but nothing was jumping out at him

“Now that I think about it,” he continued, his voice picking up a teasing tone, “My friend might be interested in company like yourself.” 

Yuri moved the arm that was stretched on the ridge to his side, his eyebrows arching in surprise.

“And what makes you think I’m available?” 

The man shrugged, a sly smirk twisting his lips. 

“You just have that… _atmosphere_ about you.” 

Yuri couldn’t tell if he should be insulted or complimented. Either way, he didn’t appreciate the stranger’s prying attitude. He leaned in towards the man slightly, noting the gnarly scar that ran up the right side of his neck. 

“Listen, _honey,_ ” he began, his voice acidic, _“_ even if I were up for sale, I doubt you’d be able to afford me for an outcall.” 

The man whistled, reclining back into the cushioned seat. His emerald eyes wavered over Yuri, settling on his right hand.

“It seems _someone_ was able to afford you.”

Yuri was confused momentarily, following what his eyes were staring at. 

_Oh_. 

Although the lighting was dim, his wedding ring still reflected some light, drawing attention to itself. 

“Must have a lot of money if you dropped the gig.” The man continued to pry. 

“I never said I was part of any _gig_.” Yuri spat back, annoyance creeping into his tone. 

“Didn’t have to.” 

He was about to open his mouth again to protest when Sara opened one of the wooden doors, glancing at the two of them. The man noticed, ushering away the entire interaction and focusing on her.

“Hello Yuri, could you give me a moment with this gentleman?” 

“Of course.” 

Realizing that this woman was the owner of the agency, the man kicked into gear, striding over towards her. 

“I didn’t expect the owner of the agency to be so _beautiful.”_

Sara merely smiled, a smile Yuri had come to recognize as fake over the years, and graciously took the hand that was outstretched to her. The man pulled it in gently, kissing the top of her hand tenderly. Yuri rolled his eyes. 

_Who the hell is this guy_? 

“We spoke over the phone a few days ago, si?” She asked. 

The man nodded, “Yes, I’m Abram.” 

“I spoke to the girls you picked out for your celebration. They’ll attend as planned. Would you like to see them?” 

“No, it’s okay. I’m in a hurry today. What about payment?” 

“Since it is your first time using our services and you’re taking out four girls for a weekend, I can deduct $500 from the amount we discussed over the phone.”

The man clasped his hands together in a clap. 

“Великий.”

“I’ll call you again the day before, if that’s all right with you, to remind you.”

“That’s fine. Make sure the girls are rested and ready.”

Sara simply nodded and smiled, watching as the man waved goodbye to the assistant before turning to Yuri. 

“See you around.” 

“No, you won’t.” Yuri nearly hissed back.

The man laughed before calling the elevator, the air tense for the few seconds he waited for the contraption to arrive. Once he was gone Yuri stood up and walked over towards Sara, greeting her with a casual hug. 

“What was that about?” She questioned, shooting a quizzical glance at him.

“ _I_ don’t even know. Who was he?” 

“He’s a new client. Found out about us through one of his subordinates.” 

“He’s Russian.” Yuri commented as he followed Sara through the door and into the back. He trailed behind her until they reached her office, the scent of incense infiltrating his senses. 

“Is he one of your husband’s?” She asked, taking her seat behind the desk. 

Yuri shook his head, sitting down on one of the chairs in front of Sara. 

“I don’t think so, not with the way he spoke to me.” 

Sara shrugged, “There’s many organizations in the city nowadays. Regardless, the recruitment?” 

Yuri nodded, leaning towards the desk as Sara pulled out a binder, flipping to a tab labeled _candidati_. Every six months the agency would expel any member that wasn’t popular amongst clients, and hired new workers. Although Yuri had left the agency, he still aided Sara in making recruiting and advertising decisions. 

“Oh, she’s _pretty_.” He commented, pointing to a young blonde woman smiling in a portrait as Sara began flipping through the recommendations. 

 

___________

 

“So, when are you meeting with their boss?” Yuri asked, letting his hand drag along lazily along Viktor’s forearm. 

“Don’t know yet.” 

Yuri sighed, rolling over from his side to lay on top of his husband. Although the lights were off and it was nearly impossible to see anything in the dark of their bedroom, Viktor’s eyes were fixated on the ceiling, and Yuri knew his mind was elsewhere. He plopped his head against Viktor’s chest, his cheek squished as she spoke. His eyes struggled to focus on the alarm clock on the nightstand, but eventually the numbers _02:37_ became legible to him. It was always like this whenever something regarding the Rails was on Viktor’s mind, either Yuri would wake up to Viktor being restless, or they’d stay up together from the get-go. 

“Do you think meeting is a good idea?”

“Negotiations never last.” Viktor commented, lifting one of his hands to Yuri’s hair, running his fingers through the dark hair gently. 

“Then why is Yakov bothering.” 

Viktor sighed, “He wants to avoid casualties.”

“You _already_ lost five men, that doesn’t make sense.” 

“I know.” 

“But nothing has been on your territory, and that’s the issue?

“Exactly.” 

“That’s such a bullshit excuse.” 

Viktor laughed.

“It _is._ ”

“Well, I didn’t make the rules. If you kill on undesignated territory, it isn’t considered a call to war.” 

“ _A call to war?”_ Yuri repeated, lifting his head up to peer at Viktor. Viktor stared back, confused. 

“What?”

“You sound like a freaking general.”

Viktor rolled his eyes as Yuri crept up on him, pressing his lips gently against his. 

“ _General Nikiforov._ ”

“Stop it.” Viktor ordered, the smile appearing on his lips betraying him. 

“Whatever you say, General.”

“ _Yuri_.”

The younger man laughed as he rolled off his lover, turning his back towards him. Viktor snaked his arms around him, pulling him towards his bare chest. 

“You’ve been talking about your work more often.” Yuri commented, his voice drenched in drowsiness. 

“I haven’t noticed.” Viktor responded, nuzzling his face into the back of Yuri’s head. 

“I have.” Yuri responded, his statement trailing off into a yawn. Viktor listened as his husband’s breath evened out, the familiar sounds of soft snoring letting him know the other had fallen asleep. 

_You sound like your father, Vitya._

Viktor’s grip on Yuri tightened slightly, his jaw clenching. Yakov’s voice kept ringing through his head, repeating the same sentence over and over again. Eventually Yuri's joined in the haunting, Viktor squeezing his eyes shut. 

_You sound like your father, Vitya._

_You’ve been talking about your work more often._

_You sound like your father, Vitya._

_You’ve been talking about your work more often._

_You sound like your father, Vitya._

**_Shut up,_** he spat out at the thoughts, opening his eyes once more. Yuri was still snoring, one of his hands now clasped around one of Viktor's. The Russian sighed, closing his yet again fruitlessly. 

 


	3. iii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after not writing for a while and watching the fandom’s opinions on names, I'm going to call yuri = yuuri, and yurio = yuri, and viktor = victor. 
> 
> Also, this semester has been kicking my ass so apologies for the really slow updates. 
> 
> дерьмо means shit/bullshit/crap
> 
> Warning, I can't write people talking for shit, sorry fam.

 

_Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose_

_To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude,_

_And in the calmest and most stillest night,_

_With all appliances and means to boot,_

_Deny it to a king? Then happy low, lie down!_

_Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown._

 

 

 

Yuri’s mind was elsewhere on the car-ride to the location Abram and the Pearls decided to meet with Yakov, Victor, Georgi and him. Yakov and him were being driven to the location, while Victor was in the car behind them with Georgi. 

“I don’t understand it.” Yuri continued, continuing the conversation he and Yakov were having. 

“You’re young.” Yakov said. 

Yuri scoffed, irked. 

“Victor is old enough now to take over the Rails but he doesn’t. He lets you be in charge when _he_ could be.” 

“He doesn’t care to.” 

“That’s what I don’t understand. He should follow his father’s footsteps.” 

Yakov sighed, shaking his head. 

“Enough, Yuri.” 

“Did he not like his father? Is that it?” Yuri continued to pry, an air of arrogance seeping into his words.

He glanced out the backseat window has the car began to slow and roll to a stop in front of a closed fishing factory. 

“If Victor wants to take command, he’ll tell me, and I’ll gladly step down. But, for now, _drop it._ ”

Yuri scoffed again as they stepped off the car, Victor and Georgi joining them soon after. The two drivers from their cars, who doubled as security, stepped out, trailing along a few steps behind the main four. Two men emerged from the building in front of them, the nearby sound of seagulls gawking and gentle waves rocking rusted boats hiding their footsteps. Immediately, the atmosphere was tense. 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. If you’d be kind enough to follow me.” One of the men directed, his lips on the edge of curling into a smirk. 

“Of course.” Victor replied, acting as the first one of their group to follow. Yuri glanced between Yakov and Victor as they headed towards the building, trying to find any expression indicating  how they were feeling. 

Once inside the damp building, they met the rest of the men. Abram was standing in the middle of the building’s open space, talking nonchalantly to one of his men who immediately turned to glare at the newcomers. The two men who had escorted them left their sides to stand near Abram, another man emerging to rest against the railing bordering the second floor, his silhouette shrouded in the dimly lit space. The building was abandoned, the only remnants of the fishing company that used to run in its space the scent of dead fish, and a few overhead lights that were no longer powered. 

“Long time no see.” Abram called out, taking a few steps towards Victor, stretching a hand out to him.

Yuri shot a bewildered glance at the older man, unaware of the fact that they had known one another previously. 

Victor took the outstretched hand, shaking it tightly. 

“My condolences on your father’s passing.” Victor replied. 

Abram responded by pulling back, his shoulders lifting into a shrug. 

“It’s all right, it was my old man’s time. Anyway, let’s get to what we’re here to discuss.” 

Yuri saw both Victor and Yakov’s shoulders tense up. The man Abram was talking to earlier neared him, standing a few steps behind him. 

“Your men cannot continue to kill ours.” Victor stated, watching as Abram glanced down at his own hand, twisting a pinky ring snug against his skin. Victor wanted to roll his eyes at how tacky is seemed, but stopped himself. 

“They get too close to our lines, and my men begin to argue with them to leave. I can’t help the fact that my men shoot better once things escalate.” 

Victor clenched his jaw, Yakov choosing to take over. 

“We have a compromise. Your father agreed to not spill unnecessary blood.” 

“I’m aware of the compromise, it left us with barely any territory.” Abram replied, his voice gaining an edge. 

“You call nearly half the city barely any territory?” Victor quickly retorted, Yakov shooting him a look immediately. 

“It’s дерьмо when the area is split and near heavily policed areas.” The man nearest to Abram spoke up, his voice annoyed. 

“Bogdan, it’s all right. We’re being civil, no need to get upset.” Abram replied, lifting a hand towards the irked man to quell his nerves. Bogdan scoffed, clicking his tongue against his teeth. 

“However, can I be frank?” Abram asked. 

Victor didn’t trust the tone of his voice at all. 

“Of course.” Victor replied. 

With this, Abram took a step closer to Victor, shifting all his weight to his heels, moving his hands behind his back casually. 

“I’m supposed to keep a compromise my father made with your father, yet you’re not even in charge. Why should I bother honoring their compromise, if you won’t even honor taking over your father’s place?” 

 _Oh shit,_ Yuri thought, his hands balling into nervous fists by his sides. 

Yakov’s and Georgi’s eyes both flickered to Victor’s face. The trio knew Abram was stepping on Victor’s toes purposefully, and they didn’t know how he’d respond. 

The sound of laughter sounded foreign in the stiff atmosphere, Victor raising a hand to rest it against Abram’s shoulder as the strained noise rolled off his tongue. Abram’s lips cracked into a wicked smile. The men behind Abram visibly tensed, Bogdan’s hands clenching into angry fists at what Yuri could only think was the grave offense Victor had just committed. 

“What’s so funny?” Abram asked, his voice surprisingly light, as if he were about to join Victor in laughing. 

“You thinking you know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Victor started, his laughter deceasing. 

 _We’re going to get shot,_ Yuri thought, gulping. 

Now, it was Abram’s turn to laugh. 

“You have a good sense of humor.” Victor commented, watching carefully as Abram removed his hand from his shoulder and took a few steps back, retreating back to where Bogdan was standing, ready to pounce. 

“As do you.” Abram replied, settling down. 

“It’s a shame you refuse to set up, Victor. You’re not spineless.” 

“Don’t expect flattery to get you far.” Victor replied. 

“What were we talking about previously?” Abram asked, stretching his arms out in front of him, his shoulders and elbows cracking loudly. 

“Our father’s agreement.” 

“ _Ah_ ,” Abram breathed, “Right.” 

“It would do both our organizations good to honor the agreement, regardless of whose in charge.” Yakov intercepted. 

“Let’s say I tell my men to honor the agreement, I’d like to…adjust some of the things agreed to.”

“Such as?” Yakov questioned, 

“I want to take over at least half of the gun trade with the Italians.”

“ _Half_?” Yuri whispered to himself, his own voice catching him off guard. Georgi reached out to hit him on the arm gently, reminding him to not speak. 

“Yes, half.” Abram commented, glancing at Yuri before averting his green eyes back to Yakov’s stern expression. 

“You understand that has to be discussed with Michele and his family first.”

Abram nodded.

“Then what do you expect out of our get together today?” Yakov questioned. 

“I expect you to meet with the Crispinos, and keep contact with either Bogdan or I over what happens.” 

“What if they don’t agree?” Victor asked.

“Then, I suppose we’ll have to meet again and see what agreement we decide on.” Abram replied, as if the answer was something so obvious and simple. 

“I suppose you’re right.” Victor began, taking in a breath before sighing, “So, are we done here?” 

“I believe we are. The two men who escorted you in will escort you out.” Bogdan responded, gently grabbing one of Abram’s wrist and moving him away from the others, leaning in to his ear to murmur something.

Neither Yakov nor Victor bothered to trade goodbyes, and simply followed the two men out of the building. Yuri walked behind Yakov and Victor, with Georgi trailing along behind them with their two drivers. Not a single soul spoke until they were tucked away in their separate cars, the building slowly becoming smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. 

“How would you say that went?” Yuri asked. 

Yakov was fidgeting with the cigarette carton tucked in his jacket, rolling down his window with his free hand. 

“A ticking time-bomb.” Yakov replied, pressing a lit cigarette against his lips, “It’s just a matter of time at this rate.” 

 

________

 

“What a bunch of pussies.” Bogdan cursed, earning a laugh from some of the men surrounding him. Abram had a finger pressed against his own lips, thinking. One of the men closest to Abram who had remained silent throughout the exchange kicked a broken piece of glass on the floor before speaking. 

“We should wait until after they meet with the Italians to do anything.” He stated. 

“Otabek is right.” Abram replied, moving his hand to run it through his hair. 

“We should still explore weaknesses.” Bogdan said. 

“Victor had a wedding ring on.” Otabek mentioned. 

Both Bogdan and Abram looked at him, interests peaked.

“You want us to fuck with his spouse?” Abram questioned, taking a predatory step towards Otabek. 

Otabek gulped, expecting to be reprimanded for the radical suggestion. 

“That’s brillant.”  

Instead of a slap or a hit, Abram placed his hands on Otabek’s shoulders, an unsettling smile curling his thin lips. 

“Can you look into it? Tell me who the woman is, what she does, everything you can find out.” 

Otabek nodded. 

“Bogdan, Zakhar, Igor, come with me. I want to tell the others to lay low until this is figured out.” 

The three men followed him out obediently, Otabek staying behind in the building. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, staring at the reflective, unlit screen in his hand. The moment they lashed out against the Rails, especially by possibly threatening Victor’s partner, all hell was going to break loose. He hoped Abram knew what he was doing. 

With a flick of the wrist he swiped his phone open, scrolling through until his eyes settled on a familiar name. 

He couldn’t fuck this up. 

 

________

By the time they reached Victor’s house, the sun had begun to descend into the horizon. The blue hues of the oncoming night stretched themselves out like a blanket over their surroundings, Yuri following Victor and the rest of them into his home. Victor closed the door behind them a bit too hard, passing them to head into his kitchen. Yuri glanced around, evidence of domesticity shared between Victor and his husband everywhere. Yuri didn’t think anything ill of their matrimony, he just found the idea of Victor _living_ with someone else surreal. 

“That was bullshit, Yakov, and you know it. He was completely toying with us.” Victor spat, ducking down for a moment behind the island in his kitchen to open a cabinet, multiple bottles of alcohol greeting him. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey before sliding it down the island towards the men, searching for glasses after. 

“The Italians won’t agree.” Georgi piped up, pouring some of the whiskey into his glass once Victor filled them all with ice. 

“Abram won’t care.” Victor responded, gulping down his alcohol at what Yuri considered an alarming rate. 

“Regardless, we still have to speak to them. They can’t be left out of this conversation.” Yakov said, swirling the whiskey around in his glass slowly, the ice clunking together. 

“Michele is in Sicily right now, are you going to fly over?” Yuri asked, sniffing the bitter liquid in his glass. He scrunched his nose before sliding it towards Victor, who drank it eagerly. 

“I’ll have to. I’ll take Georgi with me.” Yakov replied.

“Are you going to let Yuri stay alone?” Victor asked, his fingers tapping against the granite of the island. 

“I’m fifteen, I can stay home alone.” Yuri argued, glaring at the man across from him. 

“You shouldn’t be alone, not with Abram acting this way.” Yakov said, crossing his arms in front of his chest after.

“You honestly think he’d do something?” Georgi questioned.

“I don’t know what to think about that boy.” Yakov said. 

“He could stay with me.” Victor piped up, earning a dramatic glare from Yuri.

“ _What_? No way.” Yuri hissed.

“That’s not a bad idea.” Yakov said.

“No fucking way.” Yuri said, pointing a finger at Victor.

“I refuse to stay with him.” 

“I don’t see why,” Victor began, moving to grab Yuri’s finger before twisting it playfully, Yuri yelping and pulling back, lifting an unhurt middle finger at his perpetrator after, “We have a guest-room you can stay in, and I think Yuuri has some video game thing connected to the television.” 

“Yuri, you’re staying with Vitya. I told you to shadow him weeks ago. It’s a good opportunity.” 

“You have to be fucking kidding me.” Yuri grumbled. 

Victor stretched an arm out towards his forehead, flicking it with his finger.

“Stop cursing so often.”

“ _Fuck you_.”

Victor raised his shoulders in a shrug, “Guess I’ll just take away whatever Yuuri has connected to the TV.”

Yuri rolled his eyes, much to the amusement of Georgi who was gazing at them. At times like these, it didn’t feel they were the higher ups of a mafia. But those times never lasted long.

“I’m going to go, I need to pack and head out first thing in the morning.” Yakov said, motioning for Georgi to follow him with a tilt of his head. Once Victor had walked them out, Yuri left the kitchen, exploring the house.

“Are you looking for your room?” Victor called out, his voice teasing. 

“What do you think?” Yuri responded, his words acidic. 

Victor rolled his eyes, finding Yuri about to walk into him and Yuuri’s bedroom.

“That’s my bedroom. Yours is down the hall.” 

Yuri muttered something under his breath that Victor didn’t catch, but followed him regardless. Once Yuri settled down in the actual guest-room, back flopped against the mattress placed in the center of the room, his attitude seemed to diminish. Meanwhile, Victor searched for a towel and some type of pajamas in the drawers beside the bed, pushed along the wall, so the teenager could shower

“You have to take me to get my stuff tomorrow from Yakov’s place.” 

“Mhm.”

“How long do you think he’ll be in Sicily?”

“I imagine a few days, maybe a week.”

“Abram is really fucking things up, isn’t he?” 

“What did I say about the cursing?” Victor said, throwing the towel he had in his hands at the teenager. 

“Whatever.” 

 _He’s such a kid sometimes,_ Victor thought, motioning for Yuri to scoot over on the mattress. The older Russian laid down beside him, holding his phone over his face. The two stayed like that for minutes, Yuri staring at the ceiling as Victor scrolled through his less than entertaining Instagram feed. 

“Victor?”

“Yes?” 

“Where’s your housewife? Doesn’t he not have a job?” 

At the mention of Yuuri Victor switched from photos posted by strangers, to his messages, crafting a short, quick message to his husband to update him on Yuri’s temporary residence in their home.

“He’s with his mother this weekend.” 

“How come you didn’t go?” 

“Handling Abram. Plus, I think me staying behind gives him a break from all this.” 

“He’s married to one of the largest Russian mafia’s heads, I don’t think he ever gets a break.”

“I’m not the head of the Rails, Yakov is.” Victor responded, placing his phone down on his chest, one of his arms crossing over his face. Now that he thought about it, he should freshen up too, he felt exhausted.

“You know what I meant, you have a target on your back.” 

“Thanks, Yurio. I needed to be reminded.” 

“I just mean,” Yuri started, “I don’t know how you’re so public about this. You don’t try to hide your relationship at all. Aren’t you nervous? He’s basically a lia-nevermind.” 

“You were going to say liability.” Victor said.

Yuri gulped, “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.” 

Victor sighed, turning to smile faintly at the nervous teenager to ease his nerves. He placed a hand atop his blonde hair, ruffling it much to Yuri’s discomfort and groan of a protest. 

“You’re not wrong. He is.” 

Victor stood up, walking to the doorway of the bedroom. He placed a hand alongside the doorframe, his eyes staring at the wood beneath his palm, his mind residing elsewhere. 

“But I’d murder anyone that tried harming him, Yurio.” 

Unsure of what to say, Yuri just sat up on the bed, the towel Victor had playfully thrown at him before resting on his lap, serving as a reminder of how irrationally and starkly different the man in front of him could behave. Victor shook his head before continuing to walk, heading towards his own bathroom to finally shower. 

“Oh, when you’re done showering, order some food. Yuuri didn’t cook anything before leaving and I don’t necessarily want to.” 

Yuri just stared at the space Victor had been standing at moments before, bewildered.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s been some comments on knowing how victor/yuuri met and basically if I like this fic enough and I actually see it through to the end, I'll do a prequel fic. It’ll be shorter but there’s enough backstory~
> 
> Also, that explicit rating was definitely 100% present in this chapter. Lots of violence.
> 
> The word fag is used, if that’s a trigger for anyone. 
> 
> 1\. собака means dog.  
> 2.дерьмо means shit.

_We at the height are ready to decline._

_There is a tide in the affairs of men_

_Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;_

_Omitted, all the voyage of their life_

_Is bound in shallows and in miseries._

_On such a full sea are we now afloat,_

_And we must take the current when it serves,_

_Or lose our ventures_

 

 

Yuuri never knew what to label the emotion that crept in between his joints whenever he left his mother’s side. His body seemed to slow down as he packed his bags, his feet dragging along the wooden floor he had shuffled along on as a child countless times. He made his way to the kitchen, his mother calling him from inside it as the scent of breakfast invaded his senses gently. It always felt surreal whenever he visited her ever since he had moved out. Anything he touched in the house felt disconnected, as if fog had materialized around his senses, all the furniture and picture frames surrounding him appearing a shade paler and an inch out of place. Maybe it was the different life style he had experienced living with her that altered his view of the house now, or maybe it was the memories muddied with abuse from his now absent father he tried to repress tinting the bright colors of the wallpaper, now peeling from the corners of the walls. Once he was inside the kitchen, he helped his mother set the table, Hiroko smiling as she slid pancakes off a hot pan and onto the plates. 

 

Years ago, when he had first started working under Sara, he had offered to help pay for his mother to move from his childhood home to a better house, closer to the city. But she had refused with a soft smile. 

 

“You could live closer to me.” Yuuri had suggested, the proud feeling from having deposited his first hefty check Sara had given him still making him giddy and hopeful. 

 

Hiroko had shaken her head, gently placing a hand atop of Yuuri’s. 

 

“You grew up here. You can leave and make your own life away from here, but I’ll always be here. Where we love is home.” 

 

Now it was years later, and Hiroko insisted on living in the countryside where he had spent his childhood. 

 

“What are you and Victor doing today?” She asked, finally sitting down after having placed an omelette on each of their plates. Yuuri glanced down at the food and licked his lips in anticipation. Although he kept an eye on his figure, he was guilty of loving his mother’s cooking and tended to overeat whenever he visited. The one time he had visited his mother for a week Victor had lovingly commented on Yuuri’s cheeks appearing fuller when he came back home. Yuuri, in turn, responded with an embarrassed blush and working out twice a day for a week.   

 

“He wanted to buy a new suit so we’re doing some shopping.” Yuuri explained, sipping coffee from a mug after. 

 

“He hasn’t visited with you in a while.” Hiroko commented, absentmindedly pressing the fork in her hand against the pancake, syrup trickling down its side onto the plate.

 

“He had some things to take care of this weekend.” 

 

“Like what?” 

 

“ _Mom_.” Yuuri responded, a hint of annoyance becoming apparent in his voice. 

 

“I’m sorry, I just like to be updated with my son’s life.”

 

“You know what Victor _does_ and our life is not the same thing.” Yuuri said. 

 

“I know, I just worry.” She responded, taking another bite of the food after. 

 

“You don’t have to worry, I’ve told you before I’m safe with him.”

 

The annoyance that had seeped into his voice was easily replaced with tenderness. He knew his mother meant for the best. Having your only parent be aware of your marriage to a mafia family member, nevertheless the only true heir of an organization, was anything but easy to handle.  

 

She sighed before standing up once more, picking up her empty plate and taking it to the sink. 

 

“I _do_ like him, he’s sweet to me whenever he visits.” 

 

“He likes you too.” Yuuri responded, a smile forming on his lips as he finished the last of his food. 

 

“He better, I’m your mother.”

 

The reaction caused him to laugh as he stood up and brought his plate to the sink as well. 

 

“He told me you reminded him of his own mother back when he first met you.” 

 

“Really?” 

 

“Mhmm.” Yuuri hummed, bumping his mother’s hip with his own to scoot her out of the way of doing the dishes. She shot him a disapproving look before drying her hands on a towel, allowing him to finish the rest. 

 

“That boy’s been dealt a hard hand in life.” 

 

The comment and change of tone caught Yuuri off guard, his hands momentarily halting for a second, the cold water streaming over his skin, washing away the soap. He sighed, moving the sponge along the dish gripped in his right hand once more. Hiroko picked up on the _I don’t want to talk about this right now_ vibe and quickly changed the subject.

 

“Tell him to visit soon, I’ll cook dinner.” 

 

“I will.” Yuuri replied, switching off the sink as he finished cleaning. 

 

Within 30 minutes, Yuuri found himself shutting the trunk of his car closed, his mother fidgeting with her hands watching him. He knew she hated goodbyes. 

 

“I’ll come back next week with Victor, maybe we can bring you food for once.” Yuuri said, reaching for his mother with open arms. She responded happily, embracing her son tightly. 

 

“I don’t trust his Russian cooking.” She murmured into his shoulder, the laughter that spilled from Yuuri’s lips causing the both of them to shake. Once he let go he was smiling. 

 

“Who said _he_ does the cooking?” 

 

This time it was Hiroko’s turn to chuckle. 

 

“You’re too much sometimes, Yuuri.” 

 

Yuuri shook his head, rolling his eyes at her comically before sliding into the driver’s seat. He rolled down the window as the car’s engine reared into life. 

 

“Bye, Mom.” 

 

“See you soon.” She replied, waving her hand. 

 

As he pulled out of the drive-way, one hand raised to wave goodbye to his mother again before he turned onto the rocky main road, Yuuri realized what had tied his stomach into knots earlier. Nostalgia was thick in his throat, the road signs passing by the car going in and out of focus as tears began to brim his eyes. For some reason, he always cried on the drive home. He blamed it on anxiety, but something in him told him it went beyond that. Waves of guilt washed over his thoughts, his finger nails digging into the steering wheel’s cover as he came to a halt at a stop sign. 

 

Whenever he visited his mother, he always lost himself in self-doubt, questioning whether or not he did enough for his mother. A part of him still partially blamed himself for his father’s abuse and absence. But that was a part of him that he did not feel like dealing with today. 

 

“You crybaby.” He uttered to himself, lifting a hand to wipe his eyes. _Compose yourself,_ he thought, repeating the phrase over and over again until the tears dried up and the tip of his nose stopped being red. 

 

______

 

 

“So, he’s married to a _guy?”_ Abram voiced out, one of his eyebrows arched. 

 

Otabek nodded, passing a rather badly printed copy of Victor’s marriage certificate to Abram, Bogdan peering over his shoulder to take a look for himself. The men were meeting at one of the Pearl’s favorite bars, tucked alongside the edge of the city. Abram and Bogdan had been drinking before Otabek arrived with information, alcohol rolling off their tongues as they spoke. 

 

“Yuuri Katsuki?” Bogdan read out loud. He scoffed after as he reached for his glass, with what Otabek assumed to be whiskey settling under the ice. 

 

“Sounds Japanese.” Abram commented, taking in his own lower lip in between his teeth, lost in thought as he stared at the paper. 

 

“I didn’t take Nikiforov to be one of _those_ types.” Bogdan hissed out after finishing off his drink.

 

“You mean gay? You didn’t expect him to be gay?” Abram said, folding the paper and shoving it into his back pocket.

 

“Yeah, that shit shouldn’t fly well in our business. Yet there he is, fucking second in command while sucking dick.” 

 

Otabek knew better than to roll his eyes at Bogdan, especially when he was drinking, but the urge was hard to reject with the rugged Russian acting so stereotypically ignorant and grotesque. 

 

“You’re such an idiot sometimes.” Abram said, lifting one of his hands to squeeze the bridge of his nose in annoyance. 

 

“Why the fuck am I an idiot?” Bogdan responded, his voice loud even within their noisy surroundings. 

 

“First off, you’re drunk and it’s only,” Abram glanced at his watch, “ _12 p.m_.” 

 

Bogdan raised a middle finger in response. 

 

“Secondly, it doesn’t matter who he decides to fuck, him and the Rails are still a problem.” 

 

“Ain’t Beka going to do some old fashioned stalking today?” Bogdan said. His eyes flickered to Otabek who was standing, arm resting on the bar counter. 

 

“How did you even find out where they were going to be today?” Abram asked. 

 

“Informants.” Otabek simply replied. 

 

There were more individuals whose lives were intertwined with the mess of a web that had become the “underworld” of the city than there were with regular, unscathed lives. If one knew where to look, they were easy to spot. A woman wearing a skirt too short and a shirt too tight hanging around the corner store was cheap to buy for a night. A man sitting at the edge of a bar with a glass of water in front of him, cigarette between his lips was the one you wanted to talk to if you needed some powder for your nose. A homeless woman shaking an empty, rusted can of soup in front of one of the largest business buildings downtown was the go to for information on wealthy brokers and just exactly where they’d park their car earlier that day and which escort they were visiting later. Otabek knew how to manipulate these lives, tugging and pulling at the web in a way that benefited him and the Pearls. 

 

“Well, you better be careful, kid,” Bogdan began, waving his empty glass around in the general direction Otabek was standing, “If you get caught, that собака might not like you sniffing around so close to his toy.” 

 

Otabek nodded. Although Bogdan and him never truly saw eye to eye, he knew what he was saying shouldn’t be taken likely. Victor Nikiforov was known for his ferocity when it came to violence. Each Rails member that they had killed off with either a knife to the side or a gunshot to the head was avenged ten fold. The last dead Pearls member they had found was discarded inside a warehouse bordering both organization’s territories, the bruising along his neck indicating he had been strangled _after_ having been beaten to a nearly unidentifiable point. 

 

That was the Nikiforov trademark. They wouldn’t just _kill_ someone opposing them, they’d make them regret the day they were given life while they were still breathing. Although Otabek had come to know of Victor’s methods, luckily not through personal experience, he was too young to remember much of Victor’s father’s time as head of the organization up to his death when Otabek was nine. 

 

But, there were _always_ stories

 

“Mr. Nikiforov” had become synonymous with the boogey man in Otabek’s house when he was a child, his father rarely mentioning the name in conversation, as if the air around him would rat him out. The head of the Pearls, Abram’s father, although intimidating and a force of his own, lacked the utter apathy Victor’s father held towards life and the people around him. The only thing that mattered to the man was his name. He utilized _Nikiforov_ both as a weapon and armor, using it to not only continue the blood-soaked lineage that he was born into, but to hinder any other family near his from climbing the pedestal he had helped the Rails reign from. 

 

The most vivid memory about him that Otabek was able to recall was from when he was eight and sitting on the ground outside his uncle’s home on a humid summer night. He was flipping over a beetle with a stick, half-listening to his uncle and father talk, half listening to the music playing from the radio beside the two men sitting on the porch. 

 

_“Did you hear about Nikiforov’s wife?” His father had murmured, his voice barely audible over the music._

 

_His uncle nodded, taking a puff from the cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth._

 

_“I heard they found her with a bullet in her head.”_

 

_Otabek watched the beetle fruitlessly wiggle trying to flip itself onto its legs as he continued to listen._

 

_“Did you hear the worst part?” His father continued._

 

_“What?”_

 

_Otabek poked the beetle, the tip of the branch pressing a bit too hard into its underbelly, the faint sound of a crunch followed by a squish letting Otabek know he had killed it._

 

_“I heard he did it himself.”_

 

“I won’t be caught.” Otabek said. 

 

“Good,” Abram replied, turning to look at him. He placed a hand on Otabek’s shoulder and gave a light squeeze. 

 

“Wouldn’t want to lose you.”

 

______

 

When the three of them were together, it all felt different. 

 

Yuri constantly tried to pick a fight with Victor, insulting anything from his shoes to the way he walked, while Yuuri tried to calm him down. Meanwhile, Victor would continue to tease Yuri - that or try his best to make him squirm by wrapping an arm around Yuuri or pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

 

“You two are gross.” Yuri said. 

 

He was referring to Yuuri suddenly pulling Victor to a window, pointing at a black suit with a deep purple under shirt on display with his free hand. 

 

“You’d look great in that.” Yuuri stated. 

 

“You think so?” 

 

“Oh my god, _stop being gross._ ” 

 

“I’m not even kissing him.” Victor commented, raising a hand to flick Yuri’s forehead. 

 

“Doesn’t matter, you keep looking at each other all lovey-dovey.” 

 

“Yurio, we _are_ married.” Yuuri said, earning a chuckle from Victor as they all walked into the store displaying the suit.

 

Yuri rolled his eyes once they were inside, pulling out his phone and shoving his earphones in. If he was forced to be with the two of them, at least he could distract himself with music. He headed to the back of the boutique, taking a seat on the cushioned bench beside the entry to the fitting rooms as rock music began to play. Victor was exploring the store, casually glancing through some shirts hanging on a rack as Yuuri asked a sales associate for some help. Yuri eyed the associate, watching her expression change as Yuuri brought her to fit Victor. 

 

The natural smile that had decorated her face while interacting with Yuuri had turned into a nervous grin the moment she saw Victor, one of her hands fidgeting with the edge of her blouse as he said something to her. Yuuri apparently didn’t notice, casually sliding his hand back into Victor’s as she guided them to the other back corner of the store, where a three way mirror was placed in front of a small, rounded wooden pedestal. Victor stepped onto it, stretching out his arms as told to, measuring tape lining their lengths. She was still anxious, careful not to actually _touch_ Victor unless it was necessary. 

 

_She must know who he is,_ Yuri thought, swiping his thumb on his phone screen to change tracks. 

 

By the time they were at the cash register, Yuri’s earlier notions were confirmed as the sales associate knocked down the price of the suit. 

 

“You don’t have to do that.” Victor said, noticing the math she was doing below his measurements scribbled on a scratchpad. 

 

“It’s okay, our manager always gives a discount to your…co-workers.” 

 

Yuuri shot Victor a quizzical look. 

 

“I wasn’t aware they liked this brand so much.” Victor said. 

 

The associate nodded, taking the credit card Victor had slid towards her. 

 

“I mean, we haven’t been too busy lately. But the pretty red head came in the other day with her girlfriend.”

 

“Ah, that’s Mila and Sara. They’re both sweethearts.” Yuuri spoke up, trying to ease her nerves. It seemed to work, the sales associate smiling softly. 

 

“Well, we have to get going, have a good day.” Victor said, a natural wink serving as goodbye before he turned on his heels and headed out of the store. Yuuri went along beside him, hands linked once more as Yuri trailed along behind them. 

 

“She was scared of you.” Yuuri commented, “Did you do something to the store owner?” 

 

Victor turned his head to look at Yuuri, a hurt expression on his face.

 

“Why would you ask me that?”

 

“Maybe because she was literally fucking _shaking_ measuring you.” Yuri interjected, both Victor and Yuuri glancing at him immediately. 

 

“Stop cursing so much.” Yuuri scolded.

 

“I didn’t do _anything_.” Victor argued. 

 

“I guess it can’t be helped, some people are just going to know who you are in the city.” Yuuri said, taking a step closer and resting his head against Victor’s shoulder briefly as they walked.

 

Unknowing to the now quiet triad, a pair of eyes was watching them from across the street. Otabek was walking down the sidewalk on the opposite street, cheap sun-glasses, a black ball cap, and a camera with a seemingly unnecessary long-distance lens strapped around his neck making him appear as a tourist in the crowd of people going about their bustling Sunday afternoons. He was lucky that they had decided to go shopping in a popular section of town, the crowd composed of wealthy tourists and actual city-dwellers served as good cover. He already had snuck a few photos of Victor and Yuuri, as well as the teenager that dragged along behind them wherever they decided to venture. 

 

_I should be able to stop soon,_ he thought to himself, raising the view-finder of the camera to his eye once more as the trio turned into yet another store. He pressed the shutter once, snapping a well-focused photo of Yuuri’s face. Again, he pressed the shutter.

 

But this time, the teenager that had been focused on turned and seemed to stare right at him through the lens.

 

“Shit.” Otabek cursed, quickly aiming the camera up, as if he were taking a photo of the store’s sign. 

 

From across the street, Yuri furrowed his eyebrows, bewildered. Still, he didn’t bring it up to the other two with him. 

 

Otabek decided he needed to play it safe, putting some more distance in between them. As Yuuri led them out of the store they had walked into it, he waited a few minutes before beginning to follow once again. 

 

“I’m getting hungry.” Yuri spoke up, crossing his arms behind his head as he said so.

 

“I’m pretty hungry too, what are you in the mood for?” Yuuri asked, the three now stopped to discuss plans. 

 

This meant Otabek had to stop as well, the 19 year old deciding to stand against a street light’s pole and try his best to come off as casual. He casted his gaze down, scrolling through the dozens of photos he had already taken. He clicked “send” on each one, his phone buzzing. He’d send the photos to Bogdan and head out soon enough. 

 

“Well, we passed by a sushi place earlier.” Victor suggested, Yuuri nodding along. 

 

“I’m down for whatever.” Yuri said, turning to begin heading down the direction they had come from. 

 

The same black ball cap and sunglasses caught his attention, Otabek not noticing as he continued to look down at his camera. 

 

“Hey, Victor.” 

 

“What?”

 

“I think…I think someone’s following us.” Yuri said. 

 

“дерьмо.”

 

“Wait, who?” Yuuri asked, taking a step closer to Victor. 

 

“I won’t point, but its this guy in a black hat with sunglasses. He has a camera. I saw him earlier taking a photo.” 

 

Victor motioned for the two of them to start walking again, Otabek finally done transferring the photos from the camera to his phone, following suit a few seconds after. Victor noticed, clicking his tongue in frustration and pulling out his phone. 

 

“I can’t tell if I recognize him from this far. I’m calling Georgi to come.”

 

“What should we do?” Yuuri asked. 

 

Victor turned away from them both for a moment, informing Georgi on the situation that had developed.  He hung up after a quick minute, running his hand through his hair after. 

 

“I want you and Yurio to go back home.”

 

“Wait, _what_?” Yuri hissed, puffing out his chest in annoyance. 

 

“Are you that worried?” Yuuri asked. 

 

“I don’t know who he is, and I don’t want either of you in danger.” Victor explained, the giddy tone that resided in his voice earlier gone. 

 

“That’s such bullshit, you can’t just send me away with your housewife.” Yuri argued, taking a step closer to Victor, glaring up at him. 

 

“Yurio, now is not the time to argue with me.” Victor replied coldly. 

 

“I want to see what you do, I need to learn.”

 

“I know Yakov told you to shadow me, but we don’t know _who_ he is. Later, okay?” Victor pleaded, trying his hardest not to let his frustration with the teenager seep into his words. 

 

“Let’s just go.” Yuuri said, reaching out for Yuri’s shoulder. Yuri shrugged his hand away and stormed off, thankfully in the direction they had come from. 

 

“Please text me when you get home.” Victor said, leaning in for a quick kiss. Yuuri wrapped his arms around him after, the two embracing tightly. 

 

“I will. Stay safe, please?”

 

“I’ll try my best.” Victor replied, a faint smile curling his lips in an attempt to ease Yuuri’s nerves. Yuuri sighed, fully aware of Victor’s tactics, before turning to catch up to Yuri. The smile on Victor’s face disappeared as soon as it materialized, the man turning to walk in the opposite direction Yuuri and Yuri were heading. Otabek was caught off guard by the split, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He ignored it, his phone vibrating in his back pocket. He looked at it, Bogdan replying to the messages with the attachments. 

 

_Keep following him._

 

Otabek took a deep breath before replying with _O.K. They split. Y is alone._

When he glanced up, the bob of silver hair he had focused on had seemingly disappeared, the dreadful sensation in his stomach growing. Otabek made a near 360 on his heels trying to find Victor when he felt something press into the small of his back. 

 

“You really shouldn’t look away from the person you’re stalking.” 

 

Otabek stilled, gulping. What could he do? What could he say?

 

“I didn’t recognize you from far away, but you’re one of Abram’s boys, aren’t you?” Victor continued, pressing his gun’s barrel harder against his back. 

 

_What do I do?_

 

“You see that alley up ahead?”

 

Otabek moved his eyes to where Victor seemed to speak about. About a half block away, the line of buildings and shops gave way to an ignored alley way, hidden from view for the most part. 

 

_I’m going to die. He’s going to shoot me._

 

“I want you to walk there. If you try running, I’ll shoot you in the knees.” 

 

______

 

 

Otabek had gained consciousness again in an unfamiliar room. The side of his head pulsed with pain, Otabek faintly remembering Victor swinging the butt of his gun against his temple once they were both in the alley, knocking him out. He tried to move his arms, only to come to the realization that he was strapped down onto a wooden chair. 

 

“He’s awake.” An unfamiliar voice called out.

 

Otabek groaned, the aching in his head only worsening the more conscious he became. The voice had come from a man standing beside the apparent only door in the room, his back resting against the bare cement wall. If Otabek squinted enough, it looked like something dark had stained the walls in some parts. Suddenly, the scent of smoke infiltrated his nose. Otabek glanced around the room for the source, his eyes settling on Victor's back. The older man was standing at the corner of the room, shuffling through some things Otabek couldn’t see placed on top of a table. Smoke rose above his head and towards the air vent in the room, Victor sighing deeply before turning to face him. He flicked the cigarette he had been smoking onto the floor, crushing it with the sole of his shoe. 

 

“You know, my husband doesn’t know that I smoke. He thinks I quit.” Victor said, his voice echoing in the minimally furnished room. Other than the chair Otabek was strapped onto, the only other piece of furniture was the table and another chair in front of it. 

 

Otabek turned his eyes away from Victor as he neared him, placing a hand on each corner of the chair’s backboard. He was hunching over him, reeking of cigarette smoke. 

 

“Speaking of my husband,” Victor continued, clicking his tongue against his teeth, “Why were you following us earlier?” 

 

No answer. 

“This doesn’t have to be hard.” Georgi said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

 

_Of course it has to be hard._ Otabek thought to himself, a bead of sweat tumbling down the side of his face that was aching. 

 

“If you answer my questions, I could let you go.” Victor said. 

 

Otabek wanted to speak up. He wanted to tell Victor that he knew people didn’t just stalk Victor Nikiforov and his husband and get away with it, but he didn’t. He bit into his lip and remained silent. 

 

“How boring.” Victor said, pulling away from him. He began to circle Otabek slowly, his hands nestled behind his back. 

 

“If he isn’t going to talk, we might as well get this over with.” Georgi said, taking a step towards him. Otabek flinched, expecting a punch to the gut or the head. Instead, Victor had lifted a hand to Georgi, freezing his movements. Georgi sighed, returning to the wall. 

 

“You’re not going to answer, but can I ask you a question?” 

 

Otabek closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

 

_Here we go._

 

When he opened his eyes, Victor was squatting in front of him, one hand holding onto Otabek’s left hand. 

 

“Have you ever broken a bone?”

 

Otabek tensed. Victor squeezed his hand for a moment, tilting his head as he watched his finger nails dig into Otabek’s skin. 

 

“It doesn’t hurt too bad.” 

 

It took him about five-seconds to pull back on Otabek’s pinky finger enough to break it, a _snap_ gracing his ears. Otabek nearly yelped, but instead bit into his bottom lip, drawing blood. The pain jolted through his arm, sharp and never-ending. 

 

Victor moved the pinky around, earning a few grimaces from Otabek. 

 

“This isn’t enough to get you to talk, is it?” Victor commented, his own fingers wrapping around Otabek’s ring finger. 

 

He closed his eyes, trying to ease his mind into the pain he knew was about to come. 

 

With another _snap_ Victor broke his ring finger. This time, he wasn’t able to hold back his response. He yelped in pain, throwing his head back against the chair before glancing down at his now bent fingers. 

 

“You know I can’t tell you anything, you know how this works.” He pleaded. 

 

“Well shit, he talks.” Georgi whistled. 

 

“Why were you following me?” Victor asked, taking a hold of the two broken digits and tugging on them, twisting them in the process. Otabek yelped again, the pain almost too much to formulate words through. 

 

“I can’t tell you.” He panted, squirming in his chair. 

 

“You can, you just _won’t_.” Victor corrected him, sighing before turning away and walking towards the table he was near initially. The relief of him letting go was enough for Otabek to sigh, some of the pain numbing away.

 

“I wonder how long it’ll take Abram to find out that I have you,” Victor said. 

 

Otabek couldn’t tell if he was speaking to him, or himself. 

 

_I’m going to kill Bogdan if I ever see him,_ Otabek thought. 

 

Victor hummed, picking something up that Otabek couldn’t get a clear view of off from the table before squatting in front of him again. Otabek’s eyes widened as they focused on what Victor was holding onto. 

 

“I saw that,” Victor commented, lifting the wrench he had gripped in his hand towards Otabek’s face, “You’re scared.” 

 

The wrench was close enough to the tip of his nose that it had begun to blur, and Otabek could smell the _rust_ covering it. 

 

“I think,” Victor started, moving the wrench towards Otabek’s hand, tapping it gingerly against the broken digits, “I think I’ll let Abram know I have you myself.” 

 

Otabek was about to ask what he meant when Victor placed his broken pinky finger in the space between the wrench’s orange base and its metallic head. 

 

“Wait, do-“

 

Before he could finish, Victor had clamped the wrench down on the now bruising finger, twisting and tugging all in the same movement. Georgi winced watching, Otabek howling out in pain. Some of his skin tore, blood seeping out as Victor readjusted the wrench to repeat the movement. 

 

“Please, I’ll ta-“

 

Again, Victor interrupted him, twisting and tugging on his pinky once more, the crunching sound he realized was his bone stirring the contents in his stomach. More blood had seeped out and trickled down onto his lap as pieces of skin clung to the wrench’s rusted portions. 

 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Victor asked. 

 

“I-I’ll talk.” Otabek managed to cry out, tears spilling from his eyes. Waves of pain originating from his hand were rocking his entire body, the toes hidden in his boots curling. 

 

“Then talk.” Victor barked. 

 

“Abram, he and Bogdan t-told me to find out about your husband.” 

“Why?” 

 

“Because,” Otabek whined, tilting his head back against the chair, “Because Abram needed a weakness for you. And he was it.”

 

“What does Abram plan on doing?” Victor asked. The fact that Abram and his mutts had even spoken about his husband, _his Yuuri,_ was sending his mind into a spiral of vivid red. The color latched onto his senses, his hands shaking with rage. Otabek considered to stop snitching, but the few seconds he took to think were rewarded by Victor beginning to twist his finger once more slowly. 

 

“It’s not him. Bogdan is the one who’s going to attack.” 

 

_Attack._

 

The word triggered something inside Victor, the red he had begun to see and feel before flooding his senses further. 

 

“Attack Yuuri? He’s going to attack Yuuri?”

 

Otabek merely nodded.

 

“When?” Victor barked, his voice growing louder and louder. 

 

“Tonight. I told him you split up earlier.” 

 

Victor clenched his teeth before clamping the wrench tighter onto Otabek’s digit, twisting and tugging over and over again until he felt the finger dislodge itself jaggedly and fall onto Otabek’s lap. He ignored the infuriating sound that Georgi recognized as screaming escaping Otabek’s mouth, and lifted the bloodied wrench, hitting him once, hard, over the head with it. Otabek’s head dipped forward as he was knocked out, Victor hitting him again with the wrench out of sheer rage. 

 

“Georgi, make sure he doesn’t die. I’m not done with him yet.” Victor ordered, dropping the wrench onto his lap before heading out of the room. 

 

“What do I do with the finger?” Georgi called out. 

 

“Send it to Abram.” Victor responded, pulling out his phone to call Yuuri. The call was unanswered, Yuuri’s voicemail responding to him instead. 

 

“Shit, shit, shit.” Victor cursed to himself, calling the phone again as he ran out of the building they were in, towards the car Georgi had arrived in.

 

____

 

 

It was the fourth time his phone was ringing, and Yuuri still couldn’t find it. 

 

“Yurio? Could you find my phone? I keep hearing it ring but I can’t find it.” Yuuri called out, moving the pillows on the living room’s couch in his fruitless search. 

 

No answer.

 

“Yurio, seriously. It’s probably Victor freaking out.” 

 

No answer.

 

“Yurio?”

 

Silence.

 

Something felt off to Yuuri. Quietly, he made his way out of the living to the kitchen, peering into the hallway towards the direction Yuri had stalked off to. The guest bedroom’s door was closed, the sight of it never having felt so ominous to Yuuri before as it did now. He inched his way back into the kitchen, grabbing hold onto one of the knives Victor had shelved by the oven. 

“Yurio, are you okay?” He called out again. 

 

This time, the sound of a door opening and closing served as a response. Yuuri took a deep breath, every nerve tucked away under his skin on alert. He peered into the hallway once more, a surprised yelp escaping his lips at the sight of a stranger standing in his hallway. He bolted for the front door, knife in hand. Before his outstretched hand grazed the doorknob, he heard a gunshot. He froze in place, half expecting to suddenly be hit with a wave of pain as his body realized that he had been surely been shot, half expecting another shot to ring out. 

 

Instead, he was fine, the only discomfort being his ears ringing. 

 

“That was a warning shot. I’ll shoot you if you try to run again.”

 

“Who are you?” Yuuri asked, turning around to face the intruder. He sounded Russian, but none of Victor’s men would be stupid enough to betray him. 

 

“None of your business.” Bogdan replied. 

 

A wicked grin slowly twisted his thin lips, Bogdan motioning towards the floor with his gun. Yuuri was confused, his hand holding onto the handle of the knife tightly. 

 

“Kneel. Now. And drop the knife” 

 

Yuuri did as told, the knife clattering onto the floor as his knees slowly touched the wooden floor. 

 

Bogdan lowered the gun as he neared Yuuri, a chuckle sliding off his lips. The sound was grotesque to Yuuri, filling him with nausea. 

 

“What did you do to Yurio?” Yuuri asked, wincing as Bogdan pressed the barrel of the gun against Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri pulled back, scowling in disgust. 

 

“He’s fine, just took a hit to the head. He’s not my target.” 

 

“Killing me is a bad move.” Yuuri protested. He had to play it smart. 

 

Bogdan laughed, “And why’s that? Your big, bad husband coming to get ‘cha?” 

 

Yuuri wanted to say _he probably is_ but was caught off guard when Bogdan suddenly kicked him in the chest, the air knocked out of Yuuri as he landed back onto the floor. 

 

“Ya know, I never took Nikiforov to be a fag. I was real fucking surprised when we found out.” 

 

Another kick, this time to the stomach. Yuuri coughed, his hands immediately lunging out, trying to grab onto his attackers’s leg, trying to disrupt his balance. Bogdan laughed at his attempt and merely brought his foot down, effectively stomping on one of Yuuri’s hands. 

 

“He couldn’t even get with someone _better._ When we saw photos of you, Abram remembered running into you at a fucking prostitute business.”

 

_Abram._

 

The name was familiar, Victor having mentioned it before. But now, Yuuri had a face to accompany it. He remembered the man that had come up to him at Sara’s office, the realization that he had bumped into him without knowing who he was making him gag. 

 

“Aw, you’re going to throw up?” Bogdan teased. He took a step around Yuuri, bending down to reach for the knife he had dropped moments before. Yuuri took it as an opportunity and took a breath before lunging himself at Bogdan, knocking him over onto the floor. 

 

“Get the fuck off me.” Bogdan hissed, landing a hard blow against Yuuri’s side. Yuuri yelled in pain but refused to let go of the man under him, raising his own knee in the air before bringing it down on his crotch. 

 

“I’m going to _fucking_ kill you.” Bogdan yelled, landing another punch, this time knocking Yuuri off of him. Yuuri rolled over, clutching onto his side. 

 

_I’m going to die. I’m going to die._ He thought, wincing as he tried to stand up, using the wall behind him as support.  His eyes trailed down along Bogdan’s arm, closing as they saw his hand wrap around the handle of the discarded knife. 

 

“On the way here, I was planning on shooting you through the mouth.” Bogdan stated, taking a step towards an inching away Yuuri. 

 

“But now? _Now_ I’m going to slice your neck until you ble-“ 

 

A scream escaped Yuuri’s lungs as a gun-shot rang out, Bogdan’s eyes widening as the knife slipped from his loosening grip, clattering onto the floor once more. His hands dropped to his stomach, blood oozing out of a fresh gunshot wound as he fell onto the floor. Yuuri dropped to his knees, his eyes frantically searching around the house for the source of the bullet. He began to sob when his eyes found Victor standing at the entry to the hallway, gun still aimed at where Bogdan was standing moments before. The sound of groaning tore Yuuri’s attention away from the relief of seeing his husband, Bogdan stretching one of his arms out, trying to reach for the knife that had slid away from him. 

 

Filled with a desperate rage he had been fortunate enough to never have felt before, Yuuri let out another scream before reaching over Bogdan, grabbing a hold of the knife himself. Without thinking, Yuuri brought the knife down into whatever body part of his assailant was closest to him, Bogdan coughing out blood as the blade slid into his side easily. Yuuri pulled out the knife, panting as he stabbed him again, the blade burying itself in Bogdan’s chest. He left the blade’s handle jutting out of his shirt, blood darkening the torn fabric around it. 

 

Within moments Victor’s arms were wrapped around him, cradling him. Yuuri broke out into dry sobs, his body shaking violently as he continued to stare at the body in front of them. 

 

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” Victor whispered to him, pressing his lips against Yuuri’s temple, against his neck, against his cheek, against his lips. He kissed him all over, running one of his hands through his hair. Yuuri just let him, his sobs slowly becoming less and less volatile, his body eventually evening out. 

 

“I killed him.”

 

“You can’t blame yourself for this, he was attacking you.” Victor argued, pulling back slightly only to look Yuuri in the face. 

 

“I…killed him.” Yuuri repeated, lifting his hands to stare at them.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Victor repeated, “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” 

 

After the first stab, some blood had splattered onto his hands, the red contrasting against his tan skin. He turned them in the air in front of him slowly, his eyes following the movement. The life of another human being, if he could even be considered that, was splattered on his skin. The sensation of water droplets left over from washing dishes in his mother’s home earlier that day was nothing compared to this. This was warm. This was molten crimson staining his skin as beads of it rolled off his hands.

 

This was like the ruby staining Victor’s clothes he had seen countless times before when he came home from doing god knows what.

 

This was like the scarlet lingerie he had tucked away in their closet. 

 

This was _red._

 

“Victor.” 

 

“Yes?” 

 

Yuuri adjusted himself in Victor’s hold so that he could raise a hand to his face, smearing some of the blood on his hand onto his husband’s lips. Victor eyed him cautiously, but Yuuri could see something darker hidden behind the cerulean eyes watching him. Before Victor could part his lips to ask him what he wanted, Yuuri pressed his lips hungrily against his.


	5. V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I literally haven't updated in months. Sorry y'all, work and school are kicking my ass. 
> 
> Anyways, here's a shitty update, I promise I'll get back into the swing of writing for the next chapter. 
> 
> As usual, Russian to English:
> 
> 1\. We have a situation

_Such is my love, to thee I so belong,_

_That for thy right myself will bear all wrong._

 

 

 

Victor found himself conflicted. 

 

A whirlwind of emotions were hitting him all at once, the warm sensation against his lips and the man on his lap stirred up a storm of thoughts - some he knew where not smart to act upon in their current situation. Yuuri’s tongue slipped past his blood-smeared lips, his slender, crimson tinted hands snaking their way under Victor’s shirt, touching his abdomen and crawling up to his chest. He was undoubtedly attracted to him, and he wanted to do nothing more than to get rid of the layers of clothes separating their skin, but he kept himself grounded.

 

“Yuuri.” 

 

He was only able to tear his lips away from his husband’s for mere seconds before Yuuri reattached them once more, this time one of his hands escaping the confines of Victor’s shirt and tugging on his grey hair, hard. A frustrated moan escaped Victor’s lips, his own hands moving systematically to their usual position nestled on Yuuri’s hips. 

 

_Fuck,_ Victor thought, trying to suppress the near carnal urge he had to overpower Yuuri and grind against him on the floor. Instead, he pushed him away again, this time keeping him at arm’s length. 

 

“ _Yuuri_.” He repeated. His voice came out loud and stern.

 

Yuuri’s lips tensed into a line. 

 

“You’re not you right now.” Victor said, moving his hands to hold onto both of his spouse’s shoulders. 

 

“What are you talking about?” 

 

“Yuuri, baby, you just _killed_ someone.” 

 

_Granted, I did shoot him,_ Victor thought. 

 

“I…I know that.” Yuuri replied. 

 

He shifted away from Victor, glancing at Bogdan a few feet away from them. He was motionless, the handle of the knife that Yuuri’s hands had plunged into him jutting out grotesquely. It all felt so surreal, so far away. The same feeling that had enveloped him when he left his mother’s house earlier that day crept back, engulfing him. Yuuri gulped, his body beginning to shake. Victor watched, unsure of what to do. This was different from his husband’s usual panic attack. 

 

Slowly, the red that was smeared on Yuuri, on his clothes, on his _lips,_ was too much. It was dirty. Yuuri could feel every drop drying on his skin, the red cracking all over him violently. He felt nauseated, the need to scrub his skin raw causing his fingers to twitch. His breaths began to become jagged, Yuuri clutching onto his chest. 

 

“Yuuri,” Victor said, reaching out to him. 

 

He turned Yuuri’s face away from Bogdan’s direction gently, but Yuuri’s eyes were still distant. 

 

“ _Yuuri,”_ Victor called out to him once more, wrapping his arms around his shaking frame tightly. 

 

“I killed him.” Yuuri muttered to himself. 

 

He lifted his hands in front of his face, his eyes unable to recognize them as his own. Victor kissed the side of his head gently, pressing his forehead against his temple after. 

 

“It isn’t your fault,” Victor murmured, closing his eyes. “You were defending yourself. He was trying to hurt you.” 

 

“I took his life. I took _a life,_ Victor _._ ”

 

Victor sighed. 

 

“It takes time to deal with it, my love. To accept it.” 

 

Yuuri shifted, some of the panic that had overloaded his senses finally diminishing. He stared at Victor through watery eyes, raising his hands to wipe at them. 

 

“At least…he deserved it, right?”

 

Although Yuuri was right in Victor’s mind, the question caught him off guard.

 

“Yes, he did. He deserved so much worse for trying to hurt you.” 

 

Yuuri closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. When he opened them again, Victor saw his composure set into place over his features. 

 

“Okay. I’m okay.” 

 

“You sure?” Victor asked.

 

Yuuri nodded, standing up. He offered a hand out to Victor, helping him up. 

 

“You should get cleaned up,” Victor suggested. 

 

Yuuri waved his suggestion away with his hand, turning to head towards the guest room. 

 

“Not now. I’m going to check on Yurio. You do what you have to do. I just don’t want to be near it.” 

 

With that, Yuuri escaped into the hallway, Victor not moving until he heard the door close to the room. 

 

“ _It_.” He muttered to himself, taking a step towards Bogdan. 

 

Once Victor was next to the body he nudged Bogdan’s face with the side of his shoe, thoughts of sending him to Abram teasing the anger he had pushed away when he saw Yuuri in shock. Instead he squatted by the body, pulling out his phone and dialing his clean up crew’s number. He stretched out his free hand, touching the end of the knife handle jutting out. 

 

“У нас есть ситуация,” Victor said, his fingers trailing down the handle slowly.Watching Yuuri, _his Yuuri_ , hurt someone was surreal. A mixture of anger at his husband having to defend himself and what Victor could only describe as _desire_ at how Yuuri instinctually reacted were still blurring his senses and thought process. The voice on the other end of the phone repeating a question whipped back into the present. 

 

“No, it isn’t one of ours. It’s a pearl.” 

 

The voice on the line took a second to respond. 

 

_Do you want us to send them home?_

 

Victor clicked his tongue against his teeth. 

 

“No, I’ll let the pearls know myself.” 

 

In the guest room, Yuuri was sitting beside a knocked out Yurio on the guest mattress, his hands idling mindlessly with the ends of his shirt. He had walked in to find an unconscious Yurio on the floor, a bruise forming on the side of his face.Unsure of what to do, he had moved the teenager onto the mattress, making sure his chest continued to rise and fall normally. Victor walked into the room after what felt like a few minutes, his eyes immediately jumping to Yurio. 

 

“I wasn’t sure what to do so I just laid him down.” Yuuri said, watching as his husband moved to Yurio’s side, pressing a hand against the bruising temple, another on the side of his neck, two fingers nudged against his skin to get his pulse. 

 

“I think he’ll be okay. He wasn’t who he was after.” 

 

“What are you going to do now?” Yuuri asked. 

 

“I’m not sure.” Victor answered. 

 

“Are you going to tell Yakov?” 

 

“I have to. Abram can’t get away with trying to attack you, or any of us.” 

 

“What about the body?”

 

“I already took care of that.” 

 

Yuuri wanted to say something, but no words rolled off his tongue. Instead he stayed silent, his eyes wandering to Yurio’s chest, watching it rise and fall as he breathed. Yuuri blinked, the image of a knife jutting out from his chest making him look away quickly, his eyes closing tightly. Victor noticed, a silent hand reaching out to bump into Yuuri’s. Their fingers interlaced softly.

 

Almost on cue, Yurio began to stir. He shifted away from Yuuri, groaning as he sat up. 

 

“What the fuck happened?” He asked, raising a hand to rub his temple. 

 

“One of Abram’s attacked you and Yuuri.” 

 

“Where are they?” Yurio asked, swinging his legs off the side of the bed too fast. He groaned louder as a wave of dizziness washed through him. Yuuri reached out, placing his hands on his shoulders and stilling him. Yurio hadn’t realized he was swaying until then. 

 

“You just woke up, relax for a little.” Yuuri said. Yurio scoffed in return. 

 

“Listen to him.” Victor said. 

 

“ _Whatever.”_ Yurio said, swinging his legs back onto the bed as he nestled against it. 

 

“What did you do with the guy anyway?” He asked. 

 

Yuuri glanced at Victor, unsure of what to say. 

 

“I took care of him already. Don’t worry.” 

 

Yuuri squeezed Victor’s hand, a silent _thank you for not mentioning what I did._

 

“We have to tell Yakov, even if he’s in Italy.” 

 

Victor sighed, letting go of Yuuri’s hand. He raised a hand to the bridge of his nose, squeezing it frustratedly. 

 

“I’ll call him now.”

 

______________

 

 

Yakov was prepared to handle a number of situations when he boarded the plane to Sicily with Georgi by his side. Michele refusing to alter their trade deal? Prepped for, plan figured out. Michele actually agreeing to his displeased surprise? Ready. Victor calling to let him know Yuuri and him were stalked alongside Yurio and attacked? Not in his schedule. Victor continuing to explain that one of Abram’s men was being held hostage, and another was dead?

 

Yakov was not, in any sense of the word, prepared for that. 

 

“I’m leaving Italy tomorrow. I’ll have a chance to speak with Michele again before I do. Try not to kill someone else before then.”

 

Victor hung up the call, Yakov taking a deep breath and sliding the phone away from him after. He reclined back against the headboard of his hotel bed, one hand atop his head. Placing power in young hands always resulted in fire, and Yakov could see Abram wielding torches. Where Victor showed similarities to his late father, Abram was starkly different from his own late father. 

 

Back when both Victor and Abram were too young to truly partake in their respective families’ businesses, their father’s handled everything. The Rails and the Pearls had a war that ceased when Victor’s father offered a deal. Nearly 65% of the city was his, and the rest was the Pearls’ territory. No unnecessary blood would be shed, and most importantly, Victor’s father would stop chasing after the Pearls, who were in fact losing the war. Yakov knew when the deal was finalized that some members under Abram’s father were displeased, but he never expected a revolt. 

 

Yet, a year ago, Abram’s father was found dead from a supposed heart attack. Victor didn’t attend the funeral, but Yakov went for good measure. The way Abram carried himself around the rented out hall was like a shadow, only materializing to accept the condolence offered to him. He’d nod along, fake a frown, and continue to make rounds. Yakov remembered how towards the end of the funeral, once most guests were signing their names and saying final goodbyes, Abram watched his father’s cold face, hands balled into fists. 

 

Yakov shook the memories out of his mind, his hand reaching out for his phone. He dialed Michele’s number, the call redirecting straight to voice-mail. 

 

“Crispino, I know I spoke to you today but things have happened. I need to speak with you in regard to Abram before I leave tomorrow.”

 

The message was short, but Yakov knew Michele would catch the urgency. Now all he had to do was wait. 

 

__________

 

Abram was staring out the tinted window of the second story office he was waiting in. His hands were fidgeting with the pinky ring snug against his skin, distant sounds of machinery buzzing and workers talking filling the space around him. When he wasn’t at home or at the warehouse designed for the Pearls, he was here, tucked away in his family’s main front for their money laundry: a canned foods factory. 

 

The door opening snapped Abram out of his thoughts. 

 

“Otabek or Bogdan haven’t gotten back to you?” Abram asked.

 

The man who just entered, Igor, shook his head.

 

“No sir, the last update we received from Otabek was the photos he sent to Bogdan.”

 

“And Bogdan hasn’t said anything?”

 

Igor gulped.

 

“The last message was him reaching Nikiforov’s home.” 

 

“Fuck, I told him it was too soon.” Abram said, turning away from Igor. 

 

He walked towards the desk at the center of the office they were in, a glass bottle of whiskey ornamenting the dark wood. Abram twisted the cork off and swung the glass to his lips.

 

Almost on cue, the door to the office opened abruptly once again, another Pearl, Zakhar, clutching onto the door knob tightly. 

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Abram asked. Zakhar’s face was pale, his eyes wide. 

 

“We got an anonymous call to pick up a delivery. Some of our men went out and brought back a box.” 

 

“And what was in the box?” Abram asked.

 

Zakhar’s lips parted and shut again, as if he couldn’t formulate the words he meant to say.

 

“What was in the fucking box, Zakhar? I’m not in the mood right now.” Abram asked again, his voice acidic. 

 

“O-Otabek’s fingers.” 

 

The silence that settled into the room was frigid, but it quickly grew heated as Abram took a step towards Zakhar, one of his hands clutching onto the fabric below his neck, wringing him in closer to Abram. 

 

“ _What_?”

 

“Sir, the men brought the box back here. Y-You can look at it if you’d like.”

 

“You think I’d _like_ to see Otabek’s severed fucking fingers?” Abram spat, shoving the man away from him. Zakhar stumbled for a moment, but gained his balance quickly. 

 

“Get news on Bogdan, right fucking now. Did the box have anything else in it?” 

 

“On it.” Igor responded, immediately leaving the room. 

 

Zakhar stayed, “No, nothing else was in the box. What do you want to do?”

 

“We can’t do much until we find out what happened to Bogdan. Go with Igor and help him.”

 

Zakhar nodded and left, Abram punching the desk once the door to the room was shut. Although he knew flat-out stalking Victor and his husband was risky, he hadn’t expected to receive such a gruesome notice of their failure. Now Otabek was either hostage or dead, and Bogdan was unheard of. 

 

“Damn it.” Abram sighed, running the same hand he used to punch the desk through his hair. He knew it was too soon to attack the Pearls directly, nevertheless Victor’s own fucking husband, but Bogdan had convinced him that the time was right. It was always like that between them, ever since they were children. Abram was more cautious, more aware of his surroundings in fights. Meanwhile, Bogdan was reckless and impulsive, thinking with his fists first. A faint buzz caught his attention, Abram whipping his head towards the window, his phone buzzing on the still. He nearly stumbled walking towards it, sliding it open with a flick of his wrist. The message that greeted him once the screen was unlocked made the hair on his skin stand, goosebumps spreading from his arms to his shoulders. 

 

An unknown message had texted him a photo of Bogdan motionless on the floor, a knife jutting out from his side. Abram found himself frozen, whether it was from shock or anger he couldn’t tell, but his limbs were not responding to his mind. His eyes were glued to the photo, Abram trying to convince himself that the body on his screen wasn't this best friends, but it was. 

 

An angry yell expelled itself from his lungs, Abram throwing the phone against the nearest wall. He heard the shattering of the screen, the photo still displayed on the screen cracked and oozing with black liquid.Bogdan was dead. 

 

_I’m going to, I’m going to,_ Abram thought, unable to think a complete thought with the rage blinding his senses. 

 

Bogdan, the Bogdan he had known since he was a child, was dead. He was dead in Victor Nikiforov’s home and Abram didn’t know if he was more angry at his friend for convincing him it was okay for him to do this alone, or at Nikiforov, who he wanted to strangle with his bare hands. He had to do something. He had to retaliate, trade with the Italians be damned. 

 

He walked over to the cracked phone and searched for Igor’s number, the shattered screen sliding his cheek slightly as he pressed it against his skin. 

 

“Igor, stop whatever you’re doing.” 

 

Abram could hear the confusion in his voice when he responded. 

 

“Bogdan’s dead.”

 

He could hear Igor start to apologize, but quickly cut him off.

 

“Listen, forget that, I want you to get information on everyone and everything Nikiforov and the Rails do. Focus on him and Feltsman.”

 

He could hear Igor shuffling paper and speaking to someone for a moment before he spoke. 

 

“ _Feltsman went to Italy after your meeting. He’s supposedly coming back tomorrow.”_

 

Abram paused for a moment. 

 

“ _Sir_?”

 

“Get Feltsman.” 

 

“ _What?”_ Igor asked, evidently confused. 

 

Abram’s free hand was clenched into a fist. 

 

“Get Feltsman. Tomorrow. Find out where he is and _get him.”_

 

Igor was silent for a few seconds before taking in a deep breath. 

 

_“Okay. I’ll keep you updated.”_

 

_Beep._

 

When Abram finished the call he glanced at his phone screen, his free hand reaching up to touch his now scratched cheek. Some blood was on the screen, as well as liquid oozing out from the cracks. His grip tightened on the phone, his mind starting to drift elsewhere. He knew it was impulsive, but he had to be sure in what he was doing.

 

___________

 

The clock on Yuuri’s nightstand had 4:00AM spelled out in red lights. 

 

Yuuri stared at it bankly, head pressed against his pillow. His hands were nestled against Victor’s arms, which were wrapped around his abdomen. Victor had nodded off hours ago once Bogdan had been removed from their home, but Yuuri couldn’t close his eyes for long before he imagined things. He sighed, turning over to rest his chin against Victor’s bare skin. In a few hours Victor would be leaving to meet up with Yakov, and Yuuri was to stay home with guards. But Victor leaving his side was the farthest thing from what he wanted. 

 

He closed his eyes for what felt like the millionth time that night, focusing solely on the sounds of his and Victor’s breathing. He swore he could begin to feel the vacantness of sleep crawl up his limbs, the sandman’s choir beginning to lull his mind to sleep, when the metallic scent of fresh blood suddenly infiltrated his nose. Yuuri jerked before he could calm himself down, shoving Victor away from him in the process. 

 

“Yuuri, are you okay?” Victor asked, his voice hoarse from jolting awake. 

 

Yuuri nodded, embarrassed. 

 

“I’m fine, I just keep having bad dreams.” 

 

Victor moved closer to him, his arms wrapping around him yet again. 

 

“Have you even been able to sleep?” Victor asked, knowing full well when his husband was lying. 

 

“No, not really.” Yuuri sighed, resting his head again against Victor’s skin. 

 

“What’s on your mind?” 

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

 

“Yuuri.”

 

“I don’t want to, Victor. It isn’t going to change anything.” 

 

This time, it was Victor’s turn to sigh. He tightened his hold on Yuuri, Yuuri wrapping his own arms around him in response. The two stayed like that, silent and interweaved, for what felt like hours to Yuuri. In fact, he even thought Victor had nodded off again. However, Victor spoke up, interrupting the still silence that had materialized in the crevices between their bodies. 

 

“There are parts of me that I am never going to get back,” he started, “And most of the time, I’m okay with that. I don’t care about it. But some nights, I don’t know how I’m going to live with it for the rest of my life.” 

 

“Victor.” 

 

“No, Yuuri, listen to me. I’m not going to change, I’ll deal with this for the rest of my life. But that doesn’t mean you have to. You don’t have to do the things I do, or feel the way I do.” 

 

“Victor,” Yuuri said, unwrapping his arms around Victor and pushing himself a bit off of him. He moved one of his hands to Victor’s face, letting his thumb brush his lips gently. 

 

“We’re married. If I have to do or see…certain things in order for us to be happy. I will.” 

 

Victor felt his heart hurt. He knew it was selfish to have sought after Yuuri when they had met, and even more selfish to marry him and entrap him in this life. But, he tried his best to keep him away from that side of him.

 

Part of him had hoped that it would have worked out smoothly, that no harm would come their way. The red that had soaked and stained Victor all his life was only supposed to be on his hands, not smeared on his lover’s lips. The blood that had stained Yuuri’s hands earlier served as a cruel reminder of what his last name meant, and the legacy he carried on his scarred shoulders. 

 

“No.” Victor said, retracting his own arms from around Yuuri. He raised a hand to meet Yuuri’s holding onto it tightly. 

 

“What?” Yuuri said, his eyebrows furrowed. 

 

“No,” Victor repeated, “you shouldn’t have to do or deal with anything like today for us to be happy. We should be able to be happy without this.” 

 

Yuuri was at a lost for words, his husband’s voice was desperate, as if he was hoping the answer to their problems would show itself in between the words he spoke.

 

“Baby, listen. I know what I signed up for when I married you. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” Yuuri responded, attempting to console an increasingly neurotic Victor. 

 

“I don’t want to figure it out, I don’t want us to have to deal with it at all.”

 

“What are you talking about?” 

 

“What if I left,” Victor said, the realization of what he was about to suggest stirring nausea and a strange sense of excitement in his body, “What if I left the Rails?”


End file.
